


Delivery for Mr. Stilinski

by eeyore9990



Series: 30 Thankful Days (2016) [7]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Delivery Person Derek, Deputy Stiles Stilinski, Dildos, Embarrassing Situations, M/M, Second-Hand Embarrassment, Sex Toys, but only mentioned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-10
Updated: 2016-11-10
Packaged: 2018-08-30 03:59:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8517715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eeyore9990/pseuds/eeyore9990
Summary: This is how it goes, this time, in this universe:Stiles does a lot of online shopping, and Derek is his UPS guy.  Stiles really doesn't order that many dildos, he just seems to do a lot of shopping with companies that use plain paper to wrap their parcels.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bleep0bleep](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bleep0bleep/gifts).



> 30 Thankful Days, day 7: Gift for bleep0bleep.
> 
> \--
> 
> You asked for dildos and UPS driver Derek and then offered me the alternative where Stiles gets his head stuck in a stair railing and like? My brain went, "Both? Yes... both!"

_This is how it starts:_

 

Stiles plucks a cheeto from the bag, bringing it to his mouth only to fumble it on his lip when his doorbell rings out loudly. The orangey goodness drops onto his shirt, spraying orange dust everywhere, then falls to the couch to be lost forever in the fabric of space and time itself. Muttering under his breath -- bitching about losing the last non-broken cheeto in the bag, mostly -- Stiles gets up and goes to the door, brushing his fingers against his shirt in an attempt to remove the evidence of his mid-morning snack.

 

Of course, that just paints more dust from his fingers across the fabric of his Tardis shirt, so when he pulls the door open to see a freaking Greek god dressed in crisply pressed brown shorts and a button down short sleeved brown shirt, Stiles can literally feel his jaw drop in utter despair. 

 

How is this his life?

 

But the Greek god doesn't mention the food foul, just quirks one seriously thick and lustrous eyebrow at him and holds aloft a little signature doodad while trapping Stiles' plainly wrapped parcel under his other arm. The parcel presses against the god's bicep, making it bulge so much it strains the confines of the shirt sleeve and dries out Stiles' mouth entirely.

 

It's as he's gaping that he realizes, oh yeah… he's probably got cheetos dust all over his face and his teeth are very likely crusty with orangey bits of goodness.

 

"Um. Oh, hey, yeah, I bet you'd love for me to stop staring at you, huh? I mean, you must probably get this all the time, right? People coming to their doors covered in cheetos, not the staring. Although I bet you get the staring too, because, you know," Stiles says, gesturing with the pen to the UPS guy's _everything_ \-- seriously, his _knees_ are perfect, and that's saying something. 

 

"Well, normally," the guy says, taking back the signature thingy, and turning just enough that the sunlight reflecting off the glass panes beside Stiles' door makes his name badge glint and Stiles now knows that his Greek god is named Derek.

 

_Derek._

 

Stiles knows what he's naming his new toy. _Oh_ yeah.

 

And then the guy -- Derek -- continues talking and Stiles sorta falls in love with him because his voice is all soft and gentle and it sounds like the kind of voice that a fairy tale prince would use to call all the woodland creatures to his aid. 

 

"Normally people don't even come to the door because I work deliveries from nine to three." When Stiles just stares at him in a way that must look uncomprehending but is really just Stiles' last brain cell exiting via his right ear because Derek is so fucking amazingly gorgeous and his teeth are the most adorable little things on the planet, Derek adds, "So probably they're all at work. Because nine to three?"

 

Stiles nods dumbly, sliding sideways to lean against the doorframe so that his legs don't just completely stop holding him up. Then some little voice in the back of his head reminds him that to keep Derek here and talking, he probably has to contribute to the conversation, so he says, "Yeah, probably all working. Not that I don't work. I totally work. As a cop, so I have my own uniform too, though I don't fill mine out as well as you do." And then he jerks away from the door because he totally just came onto Derek, and poor Derek _has_ to be nice and that's so shitty. "I mean, you're just really very fit and I swear to god, this is all coming out like I'm flirting, but I'm the worst flirt ever and I'm so sorry! Just, dude, I promise, I'm not trying to proposition you while you're at work making deliveries. I'm a normal guy, okay, you can ask at the sheriff's department because that's where I work. I'm a deputy. I'm not a creeper, even if I'm totally coming across as one--" Stiles slaps a hand over his mouth to cut off his flow of words, horrified that they refuse to stop on their own.

 

Derek's eyes widen, showing off their gorgeous multi-hued depths, and he shifts his weight on Stiles' porch, his eyes darting from Stiles to the house behind him and back before he clears his throat and reaches up to somehow exchange the signature pad for Stiles' package.

 

And then Stiles realizes what must be in the package and his face flushes all-over hot. "Oh god," he groans from behind his hand, eyes sliding closed as the last of his dignity trots happily out the door. "I'm so sorry. This is awful. Bad enough you have to deal with me, but having to deliver my sex toys too is just--"

 

Derek makes a sound in the back of his throat that draws Stiles' glance to his face to see Derek's eyes have popped open wide and horrified. Like…

 

Like Derek hadn't instantly known what was hiding under the non-descript brown paper wrapping that the company ships their dildos in. "You… totally didn't know what it was, did you?"

 

When Derek manages a minute shake of his head, Stiles utters a strangled scream, snatches the package from Derek's hand, and slams the door shut, only scraping a little bit of skin off his big toe when the door drags across it.

 

\--

 

_Then there are the middle bits, where Stiles continues to order various items from various companies, most of which come in non-descript packaging but honestly very few of which are actually sex toys._

_Of course, as his luck would have it, Derek delivers them _all_ , and each time he rings Stiles' doorbell, the judgement in his eyebrows gets a little heavier and the smirk a little smirkier._

_It's hell. Absolute hell._

 

\--

 

_The end finally rolls around, though it's not an end at all, but a beginning of sorts…_

 

Stiles is straining his fingers stretching for his phone while turning blue in the face because the angle he has to be at to reach his phone -- if he'll be able to at all -- is such that it forces the bannister right into his windpipe, cutting off his air. The ringing of the doorbell has never sounded quite so beautiful before.

 

Readjusting his position, Stiles drags in a deep, much-needed breath, and screams, "Help! Help me! I'm in here and I need help!" He's hoping it's his dad, come to check on him since he's more than thirty minutes late for their Tuesday brunch.

 

It's not. 

 

When the door opens, Stiles can't actually see the person who enters, but he'd know that voice anywhere when it calls out, "Hello? It's Derek Hale, from UPS? I'm here to deliver a package for Mr. Stilinski and I heard a--"

 

"Up here!" Stiles says, abandoning any hope of ever redeeming himself in the eyes of his one true delivery man, Derek -- Hale, apparently, and doesn't that sound like an action hero's name? "Please, god, come help me. I've been stuck like this for over twenty minutes and I'm seriously beginning to worry that I'm cutting off blood flow to important areas of my brain."

 

There's a pause in footsteps, which makes Stiles hasten to add, "Not that way. I'm not doing anything to redirect the blood from my brain to other areas of my body, I'm just _stuck_ and--" A burst of laughter cuts off his explanation and he cranes his neck, trying to turn his head to see Derek. 

 

He can't, of course, because the stupid balusters are blocking him from doing so, but the loud click of a camera shutter definitely tells him what the surprisingly assholish UPS guy is up to.

 

"This is totally going on instagram. Hashtag: doubleyou tee eff."

 

"Oh my god," Stiles mutters, then groans. "Please dude, I won't even complain about the filter you use if you just help me get out of here. I'm begging you!"

 

With a last little chuckle, Derek finally approaches and grasps onto the wooden baluster, hand tightening like he's going to _break_ it to free Stiles, which makes Stiles squawk in alarm. 

 

"No, dude, don't _break_ it! Are you insane? That's one hundred year old oak!"

 

"Are you… are you kidding me right now?"

 

Stiles waves his hands around, growing alarmed at the tone of Derek's voice. "No, seriously, you don't understand. I completely restored this house myself. I can't… it's just… there must be another way?" he ends on a whimper, wanting to cry at the idea of damaging any part of this completely gorgeous staircase. The house is almost two hundred years old and has been out in the Preserve forever. Stiles got it by chance when the property reverted to the county after the remaining members of the family that had lived here left town after the rest of them had died tragically in a fire.

 

He loves this goddamn house, okay?

 

"You…?" Derek asks, his voice softer than normal, almost cracking at the end. "You restored it?"

 

"Yeah. I mean, I'm not great at it or anything, but I found some pictures and… You know what? Not important. I'm sure we can get me out of here without damaging this precious staircase, though, so if you'll just pull me while I try to push my head out, I'll-- urk!" Stiles' words are abruptly cut off when it feels like his neck is about to snap in two.

 

"Seriously, Mr. Stilinski--"

 

"Stiles."

 

"Stiles, then. Just let me try to…" The large hand that had been about to forcefully break the baluster mere moments before tests it a little for give now, then wriggles it back and forth while something else is going on that makes the staircase creak a little and then…

 

Then the baluster is gone, without a single crack of wood.

 

Stiles pulls back immediately, rubbing at his neck and breathing ten different kinds of thanks before looking up to see Derek holding the baluster in his hand, looking at it like he's not sure exactly how it came to be there. "What did you…? How…?"

 

"The railing wasn't too tight, so I just lifted a little and this guy popped out of its holes. Then you popped out of yours and, voila. Happy ending?" Derek brandishes the baluster at Stiles a little sheepishly before pulling it back to his chest when Stiles just continues to gape up at him. "Um. Yeah, sorry. I… have a package to deliver?"

 

"Of course you do," Stiles says, shaking his head as he grabs onto the railing and hoists himself back to his feet. 

 

Derek leads the way back down the stairs, not stopping until he's on the front porch again, bending over to grab his signature pad off the chair to the side of the door. Stiles… stares shamelessly, because of course _he_ does.

 

After Stiles signs for his package -- another non-descript, brown-paper package that actually, definitely does contain another sex toy -- Derek takes back the pad and stands there for a moment, eyes down and teeth working at his bottom lip. 

 

"I really like what you've done with the house. It looks… it looks good. Like it used to. _Before._ " The last word is almost a whisper, but the dialogue takes Stiles by surprise anyway because…

 

"Oh my god. Hale. Derek _Hale_. How… Holy shit, dude, this is your house. You--" Stiles' eyes go wide, at least as wide as Derek's, and they're both standing there staring at each other like a couple of idiots. Only Stiles is obviously the bigger one because the next thing that pops out of his mouth is, "Do I have to give it back?"

 

"No no," Derek rushes to say, his cheeks pinkening beautifully, not doing the blotchy thing that Stiles' does when _he_ blushes. "I mean, we got all the notices from the county and all, but my sisters and I just… we couldn't. Handle it. And it's… you've done a great thing with it. It's beautiful."

 

"Thank you," Stiles whispers, something like pride rising inside him, which is fine. Because he worked damn hard on this house and honestly, this man's opinion of the work is probably the most important one ever? "Would you like to come in? For a glass of water or a thank you gift?"

 

Derek smiles a little, glancing down at his feet again before he shakes his head. "Nah, I'm… on duty. Still have a few dozen more deliveries to make. But thanks for the offer."

 

"Then--" Stiles sucks in a breath and closes his eyes briefly before reopening them and asking all in a rush, "would you like to come back for coffee some time? After work? Or before work, I'm not picky."

 

Derek's lips part and his eyebrows do a thing -- Stiles isn't sure what, though he's begun to assume that they work independent of human will -- before a sweet smile spreads slow and shy across his face. His eyes seem about three shades lighter than normal when he says, "Make it tea for me and it's a date." Then Derek spins around and dashes toward his big brown delivery truck.

 

"You're damn right, it's a date!" Stiles shouts, then grins big and triumphant when Derek shoots him a grin through the windshield of his truck as he puts it in reverse.

 

Elation floods through Stiles, and he's all set to commence victory dancing right there in the middle of his open doorway when Derek leans out of his truck and shouts, "Maybe now you can stop ordering all those dildos!"

 

The arms Stiles was raising to do a double fist pump end up hitting him in the face instead, Derek's laugh trailing behind the squeaky sound of the delivery truck bumping its way down Stiles' long, dirt driveway.


End file.
